Leaves Parting
by Senzafine
Summary: An Elven prince refuses his throne, as the Ring-bearer of old returns to Middle-Earth. A journey towards a nameless goal begins, bringing with it a second coming of darkness and the awakening of a new light. *Ch 5 & 6 UP*
1. Prologue : The Song of Legolas

Disclaimer: I owe everything to J.R.R Tolkien in creating the world of Middle Earth. Legolas is not my creation, though many elves and hobbits and drawves that are yet to appear will be my own. Enjoy this - I must admit, I am a bit rusty in writing. This is my first fanfic in over a year!  
  
Leaves Parting: Prologue  
  
The Song of Legolas  
[translated into the Common Tongue by Frodo Baggins]  
  
I sing of rain, falling among golden leaves  
Of stone breaking against the wind  
I sing of a river that flows through my veins  
Watering the weary heart until nothing is left  
The earth shifts slowly towards the moon  
As the sun dances with the fading clouds  
I sing of pain that never ceases, a sadness  
Embalmed within the stirrings of the forest  
  
I sing alone, for the birds have flown  
Away from sheltering hands  
The horizon grows gray with doubt  
For a new dawn is rising  
  
I sing alone, for a place I once knew  
Where now are the trees I have watered  
With the river that flows through my veins  
Where now are the dancers to my song  
  
I sing of proud foundations of stone, falling to the wind  
Crumbling to dust until nothing can be seen  
I sing of rain, that falls among golden leaves  
Falling over the weary eyes until nothing can be seen  
  
=====  
  
That morning, Peregrin Took and Meridoc Brandybuck of the Shire arrived at the palace of Thranduil only to be seated behind a worried Gimli and a perplexed Gandalf. The elven-king was not to be seen, though a great many guards were placed around the palace's many rooms and halls.   
  
The food was good, the songs, though somewhat half hearted, plenty and the courtesy of the elves warm and inviting, but as the day waned on, no ceremony took place. No great rejoicing or feast. When Samwise Gamgee, supporting a recovering Frodo Baggins and baring a great many gifts at noon, the great hall was weighed down with the gravity of a sharp sadness.  
  
There was no dancing, no gift taking or giving. And there was no Legolas. 


	2. Part One: Oak and Beech

Leaves Parting  
  
Part One: Oak and Beech  
  
One day, I awoke from a dream, holding an oak leaf in my hand. The sun was setting, a pale sun that barely managed to break through the gathering wispy clouds. It was going to rain, a light rain that would bring wind and the smell of twilight to the forest. Around me was a silence that almost broke my breaths with its solemn gravity. I have slept too long - this part of the forest was beginning to feel my presence as a burden.   
  
I sprung lightly from the tree limb, clasping the folds of my cloak tightly against my neck. A cold mist was drifting in from the east, baring its icy fangs deep into my skin and my face. As my feet touched the ground and then crossed to the now dead fire that I built without disturbing even one blade of grass, I suddenly desired that I would make more sound, more movement when I walked. It was as if I was never there, the paths I walked becoming nothing after I leave - it's a sadness that I could never fully express, nor fully form in my mind. After all, the desire was mad after all - grace and elegance, slight of hand and feet, these are qualities that marked who I was, and who my people are.   
  
As I packed the few things I actually wanted to bring back home - my hunting knives, now cleaned, my flask of wine now refilled with river water, and the last remnants of my afternoon meal - I noticed that I kept with me still that oak leaf. So few oak trees are left now, a poignant reminder that this forest, like the rest of the world, is transforming itself day by day into a place that I will soon be unable to recognize as my own lands. My mind was beginning to ache once more. I better hurry for the darkening sky will offer little comfort. I climbed the other tree that stood parallel to the clearing and close to the river and cut down the animals that I hung in its high branches.   
  
The hunt was a small one, consisting only of two young deer and a few pheasants, but I could not have wished for a better bounty. It was almost winter, one can smell the rain's desire to turn into snow, and few animals are still around in this part of the forest. But as grateful as I was for such a successful hunt, I still did not particularly desire nor enjoy carrying the animals to where I kept my horse. The weight of dead meat is heavier upon the shoulders of the hunter then on the shoulders of any other, or so I say.  
  
I ran as swiftly as I could to Arod. He was awaiting me patiently by the river, tossing his white mane and pawing the ground as if he knew how late the hour has grown. Its true what Father says - the horses are sometimes more focused then I. The horse could not even eat the bundle of rushes and grasses I gathered for it, choosing rather to pace up and down the river's bank. I could see its hoof prints still fresh in the river's mud.   
  
As Arod trotted slowly towards me, I remembered something that made me curse my refusal to visit the stables before my departure. I should have brought t two horses, not just my own. Now I had to walk all the way home if I were to load the day's hunt onto Arod. I did not want to burden Arod by forcing him to carry both I and the slain animals. Besides, I refuse to "shoulder" meat, not desiring to feel the press of dead animals behind me while I ride.   
  
"You're much too clean for even a Prince. What's this? Defiling meat and shouldering your hunt is not the same thing." "You might as well bring five horses, one for yourself and one for every deer you slay!" Haldir and Ledilor, the two greatest hunters in all the realms, are also my kin, and yet so far apart are we in nature and beliefs I myself wonder where my temperance deprives from.   
  
I think of Father as I load the day's hunt onto Arod's back, singing softly to the gentle animal. There are great differences between us, as varied and as wide as the differences that set me apart from Haldir. I did not think my sobriety originates from Father, for he is much skilled then I in the ways of both the hunt and of courtly manners. He has the gift of rhetoric and of song, while I myself struggle to find the right way to greet visitors to our halls.   
  
I pat Arod's back lovingly for just a moment more, drawing in the smell of his breaths and of the gathering mists, letting this tender moment sink into my spirit.   
  
"Come along, Arod."  
  
The horse nuzzled me lightly against my shoulder and followed my lead without so much as a second glance. I sang him songs as we walked, songs of trees and of the sea. It was altogether pleasant, for the twilight was beginning to form, and with it, the mists turned grey and violet. The rain still hasn't fallen, but the wind grew in strength. A storm was brewing.   
  
We walked down the river for a mile or so and then turned into the clearing that was lit with torches. It was the Old Road, hardly anything more but a well used horse trail. From here, five miles to the north was the palace. And already I was dreading the moment of my return.  
  
"Arod, have I told you of my dream?"  
  
The rain began to fall lightly and I quickly pulled up the hood of cloak. I gently patted Arod once more and he responded to my gesture, increasing his pace. The eyes of the slain deer seemed to glow under the rain's misty illusions and around me, the forest seemed to close in upon us.   
  
"I dreamt of the oak tree that once stood by my window. Do you remember it? I dreamt that the tree was struck down by white lighting and in its place rose a flower, similar to that of a rose. But the flower didn't bloom - it died, withering slowly away."  
  
Arod began to gallop as the wind and rain began to churn out its fierceness and strength. I ran aside the horse, keeping one hand upon the slain animals to assure that none would slip from Arod's back. The horse quickened its pace upon the first sounds of thunder and the passing trees and river became a blur as I strove to match the gentle creature's stride.  
  
"I love this land. I do not wish to leave it."  
  
Arod neighed, tossing back his head as the first curve of the road drew near. A fallen tree blocked the path and I swung myself lightly onto the galloping creature. I tried to ignore the press of the buck's wet skin against my robes as I leaned forward, lacing my fingers into Arod's mane.   
  
"I dreamt of waves crashing against trees, of fire destroying stone. What place have I now, Arod so far from a place I once thought was my home?"  
  
I braced for the jump and as Arod sailed over the tree, I thought of Father once more. I have taken my mother's life when I was born, yet Father bore no ill will towards me, choosing rather to draw me in close, more so then any of my siblings or kin.. And in doing so, it is he who will take the deepest wound in my decision.   
The palace was drawing close and I could make out three figures standing by the fine silver gates. The rain smelled sweet. I do not mind storms - it is for Arod that I choose to return so swiftly.   
  
A horse was running besides Arod and I. I turned in time to catch the eyes of Ledilor looking into my own.  
  
"So you returned, Legolas."  
  
I shifted my eyes to the servants who ran out to meet us, half listening to the praises that sprung from their lips. I felt Ledilor ride in behind me, I heard his boots gently hit the ground no more then two feet behind me.   
  
"What a wonderful feast you brought us, my lord."  
"To ride in such weather! Your name must be changed to Windcatcher."  
"Heed her not, my lord, she has taken too much mead."  
  
I nodded as one of the servants proceeded to led me into the palace as another took Arod into the stables. The last one, a sweet lass named Gwyn, happily took the animals into the kitchen, crying out praises of such a fine hunt.  
  
"Guards! Tell all, the Prince has returned!"  
  
"Yes, he has. He returned only three days late for his coronation."  
  
Ledilor bowed to me and quickly was astride his horse once more, riding off to the stables, ignoring the rain as he jumped the fence and disappeared out of sight.  
  
I remembered that I forgotten to tell Arod the last part of my dream. I was set adrift on a white pyre, clad in the greens and browns of my family, and the sea was still. And I awoke with an oak leaf in my hand, though the part of the forest I was in comprised of only beech trees, some as old as I.  
  
It was a bitterness and a longing that tasted as sweet as the rain and smelled as fresh as the earth. 


	3. Part Two: Of Stone, Flame and Leaf

Part Two: Of Stone, Flame and Leaf  
  
A wind was blowing quite fiercely, bringing with it droplets of the nearly frozen rain. But the rain was not as cold as Father's eyes. The silence in the hall was biting, and I almost wanted to turn and leave the room. But if I were to do that, the coldness in Father's eyes would melt, bringing in tears. I pained to see Father in such a way.  
  
"Legolas."  
  
Father wears the robes of state with such ease, but I myself drag the donning of such garments. Why must I be forever confined to fancy robes when I'm at the palace? Sleeves that trail and linger near the ground, layer upon layer of embroidered silk and of all things, a staff of gold and silver, fashioned after a flowering branch - how could I even form a free thought in such useless adornment let alone run and sprint? I would trade it all for my cloak and simple hunting tunic. Give me the woods because they do not know nor care for such things as titles and rank.  
  
"Legolas."  
  
I bowed as low as I could, letting the hem of my golden outer robe sweep against the floor. The sound of fabric against stone sounded like a crashing waterfall amidst the quiet gravity that claimed the usually music filled hall as its own.   
  
"My lord, there are a great many things that I must say, and I have but little doubt that you also have many things as well. However, I must beg your forgiveness, and plead that you will ask no questions until my story runs out and my tongue has all but spent itself in telling. Please, my lord."  
  
Someone chuckled from behind me, which took me by much surprise for I thought the halls were devoid of anyone but Father, myself and the guards. And the guards would never openly laugh at me, though I fancy what a riot and a scandal I am during the servants' meals and the subject of a great many jests and jokes among the festivals.   
  
I turned to the entrance and in the dim firelight, I could barely make out a small figure. Small in both stature and aura - a hobbit. Peregrin or Meridoc to be sure, for both Frodo and Samwise would not find any sort of laughable humor in my dire situation.   
  
"It has been so long since a hobbit managed to cover this King's eyes with guile. I know that of late, my son is most sought after, I myself being one of his most persistent persuaders. I pray, Master Hobbit, take to your room. This conversation is meant only to be heard by the family of Thranduil, and not meant to spoil the otherwise innocent ears and hearts of such fine hobbits as yourself."   
  
I have spoken of Father's talent with rhetoric. But the words he uttered seemed to fill my mouth with a salt like tread of acrimony. He was mocking Meridoc [or Peregrin, I'm still not quite sure who it is. My eyes have been trained to see when among the sun and the green - I do not like the illusions that flickering flame casts upon stone.].   
  
"My lord, do not use such harshness with one of my Companions."  
  
"Legolas, come here."  
  
Father was gentle and kind, a pure sincere kindness that brought even the most rebellious to their knees, but there were very few who would resist obeying one of his commands. I cast one last look at the entrance, hoping to give the hobbit at least a small glance of sympathy and apology but he was gone. The entrance was empty, save but the flickering flames and the sound of wind and rain.  
  
"My lord."  
  
I walked as gracefully as I could, holding one of my robes with one hand as the other held the staff and made a burden of the heavily jeweled thing. The guards parted way for me to move, and the servants slipped quietly away into the shadows, taking with them the plates of food and goblets of wine.   
  
My heart fluttered ever so slightly, like a butterfly encased in a cage of wood, with each step. At one point, I felt as if I would lose my balance and fall to my knees, right before Father and his watching eyes. Everything was quiet, I couldn't even hear the sounds of cooking or singing or any of the other sounds of the hearth and family. Countless eyes watched from the darkness, from behind closed doors. I think Ledilor was among those who watched. I could envision the frown upon his fair face, the twitching of his slender hands and the ever so slight scowl in his eyes.   
  
Every since I was old enough to handle a bow, my father spoke to me about receiving the throne, of taking a wife and making this forest realm as good as golden as our Southern kin's lands. But to live in such adornment and to dwelt forever it seems on the pettiest of affairs, that life is not for me.   
  
"I am no King, my lord."  
  
Father's eyes were fixed upon and it took whatever strength I had to look at into their depths of confusion, sadness and pain. I failed him, I failed his dreams and his hopes.   
  
"Of late, your words have been as dark as the dreams you describe so quietly, mournfully by the fireside to Ledilor. What ails you, what drives your heart into such a chasm, as if you have no longer the strength to live the fate that was foreseen since the day of your birth?"   
  
"My lord."  
  
If he spoke of Haldir, I would have yield to his softness, and take from his hand the delicate crown he offered to me. But Father spoke of Ledilor and my heart cast an iron curtain around itself. There is nothing here for me in this great fortress of stone and formality. No trees, no free flowing rivers, and no company and friends to truly call my own.   
  
"If I accept, everywhere I go, I will be cast aside, as if I didn't belong. Everywhere I go, they'll raise the trumpets and cry out, Hail King Of the Woodland Realm, Lord of the White Trees and Lord of Mirkwood. I would never belong anywhere anymore, if I accept."  
  
"Legolas, you will be accepted, and loved, here among your people, among your kind, your kin and race."  
"I do not desire that kind of acceptance."  
  
"This is your path. This is your fate."  
  
"No, Father."   
  
A gentle murmur broke up among the crowd. I do not blame their cry of surprise. Ever since I was born, I followed the decree and called Father My lord, and Your grace. Under the decree, laid by my forefathers and ancestors, I never spoke of even one of the many tender thoughts I had about Father. In such formality, I would wither away and become a thing to be despised, and hated, an Elf I can no longer recognized.  
  
"This is Ledilor's fate, not mine. It was never the path I was meant to take. I plead forgiveness..  
Father."  
====  
  
He waited for Legolas to emerge from the throne robe, and as expected, Legolas no longer carried a royal staff and was no longer clad in the robes of state.   
  
"You look good in hunting clothes. Don't listen to your father when he says otherwise."  
  
Legolas had brilliant eyes, a beautiful merging of violet and blue and with those eyes, he turned to stare at him. A smile fixed itself onto Legolas' fair face, lifting the ceases of countless worries. He fixed himself onto one knee, a most unexpected gesture, and took his hand.  
  
"Frodo." 


	4. Part Three: The Hobbit’s Council

Part Three: The Hobbit's Council   
  
Legolas changed in the five years since I last saw him. I don't mean to say that he grew weaker, like I have, but I mean, his face became ceased, the slightest faintest outlines of weary bags highlighting his eyes. His eyes - there was the greatest change of all. The waves of the fire that was once in those violet blue depths have all but utterly left, leaving behind emptiness and a numbness that tore away at my mind. He has begun to despair.   
  
For an Elf to lose faith and love for the land is the same as a hobbit losing his will to plant and make the world green. He and I have the same illness and the same pain.  
  
"Frodo, do you know of Ledilor? He is my kin. No -" Legolas shook his head slightly and peered up from the cup of wine he was drinking from. "He is my brother. He spoke of everyone leaving three nights ago."  
  
"Its true. Everyone left."  
  
I edged myself off of the seat that I previously sat on, and walked slowly to the blazing fire. The halls of Thranduil are like no other Elven land I have ever visited before. Built of stone, lavished with the jewels of the earth, but all in the fashion of trees, and birds, and creatures. And the songs they sing are filled with sadness, of pain and forgotten memories. But the song themselves are so lighthearted, so happy, accompanied by harps and flutes, as if they're singing of sunlight and of firm good earth.   
  
"But then they all returned the next day. And the next, and the next."  
  
Legolas paled, and his fingers hurried to clasp themselves against the brooch of the cloak he wore. The brooch that the Lady of the Wood gave him so long ago. I myself am wearing the same and the now empty chain that once held the Ring. Its been twenty years since the Great War. Twenty years - years that seem so long, the days and weeks filling themselves with normal affairs, and gentle worries. Everything, at the surface, was like the thinnest layer of ice upon the pond. But if we were to speak of events that have past, and are yet to come, the ice breaks and we are submerged into the dark, cloudy world of inner conflict.   
  
"Why did you leave, Legolas? For two fortnights, the halls of your father was lit with blue and green flame, filled with singers and dances and guests, all donned in the browns and greens of your family. For two fortnights, we waited. They waited - your kin, your subjects, your people."  
  
I grasped the stone hearth with my fingers, letting the silence of Legolas sink into my bones. At that moment, I saw no elf, let along a Prince. I despised him for running away, leaving behind the dashed hopes and worries of his family. He once spoke of becoming a king, and receiving a bride after the likeness of his own mother. Legolas hardly ever spoke of his mother. How his eyes flared with happiness, with promise. That was fifteen years ago - now Legolas is a different being, an elf that I can no longer remember as one of my Companions. Fifteen years, in the eyes of an Elf is but the span of a time that a Hobbit views as the planting season. And to change so quickly -  
  
"They waited for their king."  
"I am no king Frodo."  
  
I turned from the hearth and glared at Legolas, the hatred and pain now turning full circle and exploding within my heart. Such weakness and fragility. I have no words to describe why I grew in such anger. But lately, my emotions have been taking a hold of me, in ways that haunt me long after the strange stirrings left my body.  
  
"How far will you run?"  
  
"As far as I can. This is not my kingdom. It never was."  
  
I saw in him, myself.   
  
"Are you forever to run? There is no war. There is no threat. You need not run, Legolas."  
"My threat comes from in here."  
  
He laid his hand against his heart, the same hand that let the string of the bow fly and pledge his bow -and life- to me in Rivendell many autumns ago. The storm outside was still raging on, and the room was oft lit with lighting. The sounds of thunder overrode and marred the sounds of the echoing songs. There were always Elves singing in Thranduil's halls or so I have heard from Gimli, Merry and Pippin who are the most familiar with Legolas' home. They will take some comfort in knowing that has not changed.  
  
"Ask me and I will go. I see it in your eyes, Legolas. Gimli speaks of a great change in your character, and many, including Sam, believe that I too mirror your change. A great uneasiness has settled into me, a great troubling that has not left me even when I lay asleep."  
  
In his eyes, a great sweep of recognizance overtook the stormy blue, as I described to him bit by bit the plague that has begun its attack on me. Sleepless nights, dreams that makes no sense, a constant tiring of the body, the desire for an everlasting peace, even if it means death, the agony of no longer loving this land - everything I said, he nodded to, slowly at first as if he himself did not want to admit to such ailments.   
  
"You need not run, Legolas. I do not think running away will solve it. However, journeying and discovering are by far, more valiant things and might in the end, soothe such troubles. In fact, I was going to undertake such a journey myself."  
  
"Where will you go, Frodo, to find such things? To heal yourself?"  
"Don't ask because I don't know if such a place is still here among all this change and toil. What say you Legolas?"  
====  
  
We left early that morning, before the sun even broke out. Of course, I offered to gather together the supplies and round up the horses. I wanted to give Legolas a few moments to think things over. It's by far harder for him to leave then I. Merry and Pippin will cause some sort of talk in the Shire, but in the end, Sam will quiet them and keep Bag-end warm and waiting for my return.  
  
If I choose to return that is.  
  
I think in his heart, Legolas knows that this journey is my journey to say good-bye to this world. At first, I thought I would have taken a different Companion with me, maybe Gandalf or Sam if they could be spared, but when Gimli spoke of Legolas, I had not the heart to choose another.  
  
The earth was still fresh, being watered by the good cold rain, and the scent of new grass already climbing over the fallen trees was enough of a parting gift from the Elven-king's halls. If I could describe to the feeling I had when Legolas and I set out on the Old Road, with the melody of an unseen singer echoing some place far away behind us, and the rising sun in front of us, I would describe it and write forever if I could.   
  
But I can't. All I can offer for a description are the lines of the song that dance its way right to my heart.  
  
"There is a new day, awakening, and I sing to it  
I sing to the sun, and to the infinite dreams before me." 


	5. Part Four: Concerning Wine and Water

Part Four: Concerning Wine and Water  
  
We were riding for about half a day before Legolas stopped in front of a clearing before a river. He asked if I was thirsty. Of course it sort of troubled me that he would ask such a question before a river and troubled me even more when Legolas pull himself from the horse, carrying with him a silver cup.  
  
"Legolas, I'm not thirsty."  
"Why, the cease of you face speak of a thirst that must have entered into your very bones."  
  
He seemed quite content to kneel by the banks of the fast flowing river, and draw up a full cup of water. The air around these woods are nothing like Bilbo said they were - the trees seem not to close in around you, but rather to throw open a vault of endless sky. And the wind! The wind smelled of beech wood and fragrant rose bushes, hidden somewhere among this sea of greenery. The birds never stopped singing, even for a moment, as if some song of joy was forever in their tiny hearts.   
  
This forest has changed - I must remember to write to Bilbo and tell him. He ought to change that book of his.   
  
"Drink, and let us go before the sun has risen too high and I can not find my way out."  
  
Even though it has changed, I still wouldn't drink that water. The tales of a river that made one sleep even with a tiny sip of its clear water - I grew up on that story and I could not bring myself to drink the offered cup.   
  
"I'm not thirsty."  
"Then let us be on our way. I wish to hunt a deer and eat it all - for I am sure by nightfall, you will not hungry either."  
  
With a laugh, the Elf drowned the contents of the cup and sprung lightly on Arod's back. With a gentle murmur into the horse's ear, the horse reeled his head and neighed, with in turn made Legolas laugh as well. Though I rejoice to see such an uplift in Legolas' persona, and my heart was already busy with a letter to Gimli, that good hearted worrying drawf, I did not find much comfort in knowing that both an Elf and a horse could find so much amusement at my expense.  
  
As we rode on, I thought of deserts. I never seen one, only read of them in the oldest books that the library at Rohan offered. Endless plains of dry land, with not a drop of life saving water upon them for a good many years - that was exactly how quickly my mind was descending to, as we rode farther and faster under the high sun.   
  
I glance sideways at Legolas, and found him quite adsorbed with singing, a fair song in the Common Tongue, one hand absentmindedly stroking the side of Arod's neck. By his waist, a wine flask hung, a fair one of leather and jeweled handle. Behind him sat two more tiny casks of wine, and the thought of it made my lips crack with pleading. Of course, I forgotten anything of wine; all I carried were the food supplies and cooking utensils. I would have pleasured Sam greatly if he knew I packed even an iron skillet and a coffee pot!  
  
Surely, the fair Elf would have given me a drink if I were only to ask. But I did not want to stop his singing - nor endure anymore of his gentle teasing. And for all of Bag-End! I wouldn't let his horse canter around in merriment either!  
  
I quickly squeezed my knees together twice, as Legolas instructed once before we started this riding, and the horse, wonderfully trained, speed two full strides and continued at a steady pace. I was quite close to Legolas' side, and I reached out my hand to the strap that held the wine flask to his side. But when I did, Legolas quickened his pace, with my hand still untying the flask's strap.  
  
Together, we galloped at a rapid pace, my horse quite content on racing Arod, as Legolas rode on, still singing, switching from the Common Tongue to his own, and then, to my surprise, a drinking song in Gimli's tongue!  
  
I would have enjoyed all this, if we were not quickly approaching yet another rapid river. There was not a bridge in sight and I heard Legolas pause in his verse and murmur to Arod to jump. Now I had but little choice to hold on, for jumping was not something I understood. I'm not much of a rider - at the very least, I am only half the rider that Merry is. My horse could jump, easily, for she was trained in Elvish style, but I myself doubt that I could clear the jump with all my wits still with me.  
  
So I held on, and I fancy, what a sight we were. I swore on all that is green and good, I would have loved the sensation of sailing over water, if the water were not flowing quickly and carrying bits of broken branch and wood and if not, when we were not even halfway over the river, the flask strings came loose and I lost my footing with the horse. I almost fell, but before I could, someone yelled in Elvish,   
  
"No more, my lord!"  
  
And Legolas reached down and held onto my hand before my feet could even brush the river's surface and placed another upon my horse's back. With that fashion, we managed to land quite safely on the river's western bank.   
  
I turned to look up at Legolas, but he was watching the thicket of wood that stood before us, a strange, half scornful, half happy look in his eyes. So I turn my eyes to the wood too, and he spoke.  
  
"I can not even manage to outride the likes of you. And you wish to call me Windcatcher, fair Gwyn? "  
And to my surprise, but I really must stop being surprised, for these Elves were always forever accomplishing something that never stopped making marvel, an Elvish maiden stepped from the wood. She was dressed in green silk and yellow, and a single chain of silver was clasped at her throat.  
  
"She's beautiful, Legolas. Is she your sister?"  
  
The look in Legolas' eye spoke of a feeling that I couldn't quite name. Once more, it was a mixture of two separate feelings, one of joy and one of a sadness I did not understand.   
  
"No, she is pledged in my family's name. She is the cook's daughter."  
===  
  
Legolas watched as Gwyn approached, bringing with her a flower. She bent to the ground, already pleading his forgiveness and his patience with her impertinence, but as she got ready the horses for his father's hunt, she noticed that Arod and her own were missing. And she continued her tale of following them this far, on foot, and how Ledilor stopped her and asked if she would bring a message to the prince.  
  
At this point, Legolas lifted a hand, and Gwyn stopped. She did not lift her eyes from the ground, and remained kneeling. A sound, more like a sigh, fell from Frodo's lips, and he turn to find the Hobbit looking up at him.   
  
And he spoke, in Gimli's tongue, so Gwyn could not understand his words. When and how Frodo learned the language was yet another question that Legolas must ask on their journey. The Hobbit must be filled with secrets that reach twice his height in size.   
  
"Can you not forgive her? She is only, after all, following the words of Ledilor. Please, forgive her."  
"Forgive her? Why, something else has crossed my mind. I have but another purpose for her."  
===  
  
Legolas rode in front of us, leaving Gwyn and I following quickly behind. The flower she offered back at the river was now tucked into the folds of her braid, and every so often, she would point out a tree, or a flower, and tell a story in Elvish. I am pleased that I understand every word she said - Bilbo's lessons truly were of use. I must remember to thank him for Gwyn seemed to marvel at the fact I knew her tongue so well.   
  
She sat behind me, a great honor to me, for no matter what Legolas says, she seemed as fair of a lady as Arwen - and just as beautiful. Her laugh was merry, and her eyes shone of a light that sparked brightly and echoed faintly of fallen stars, set adrift to this land.   
  
I did not understand why Legolas insisted that she would accompany us, until we reached the woods of Lorien. When I questioned him, all he said in reply was that he was fulfilling a promise, whatever promise that was. I know that once we reached Lorien, we would rid ourselves of Gwyn's company, and already I have begun to grow sad at that approaching fate. Already, her laugh has lifted something dark in me. I would fain enjoy riding without her.  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
Something fell in my lap, and I gingerly held it. The wine flask was even more precious and beautiful up close. A hand reached out to pat my horse's neck, and Legolas turn nothing but his eyes to look at me.  
  
"Why didn't you drink the water when I asked you?"  
Legolas is more of a Prince then I thought he was. He has inherited the same kindness and pride from his father.  
  
"Well, I did not feel like sleeping, because the sun was still high and I am not an Elf like you are, Legolas."  
  
And how he laughed! Gwyn as well, lifting her hand to cover her mouth. I can not describe it, but something in me, laughed too.   
  
"Frodo, that river lies west of the Palace. I see Bilbo's tales has spread from not one corner of my realm, but to cover all the Great Forest."*  
  
===  
  
They reached the outskirts of the forest by the third day, and traveled quickly on the Old Forest Road. For a moment, Frodo thought they were returning to the Shire, and his heart sank. He did not want to share the company of Legolas and Gwyn with any one else, save Merry, Pippin and Sam. What a riot the other Hobbits would stir up if such fair people entered into their land.   
  
But Legolas did turn his horse west, and then to the north, and Frodo rode easily. Legolas must be riding to someplace in the mountians. That was until he realize - they were riding to Rivendell.  
  
There was nothing there for Legolas, or for him. The Elves have left. Frodo quickened his pace, until he was riding alongside Legolas, and spoke quietly, for Gwyn was asleep.  
  
"There's nothing left for you there, Legolas."  
  
"There's nothing left for me anywhere, Frodo. After all, I am doing nothing more but making sure that is the truth."  
  
* Note - This is a part of the Hobbit. Bilbo and his company reach Mirkwood, only to encounter a river that makes anyone who steps in it, fall fast asleep. Since Bilbo journeyed from the Shire, the river does indeed lie west of the palace, and Frodo, Legolas and Gwyn are traveling southwards. At the end, Frodo wonders if they are going to the Shire, because the Old Road leds east. 


	6. Part Five: Set Adrift

Part Five: Set Adrift  
  
He noticed every little mountain pass they rode through, taking care not to step upon even one branch that stuck out from the rocky ground. I did not understand the nervous glare in Frodo's eyes as we set through the Misty Mountains, but I have a feeling that the memory of our past journey through a darker pass has been set aflame through his heart, and mind.   
  
Gwyn was beside herself in silence, her songs and lighthearted chatter stopping the moment the horses stepped upon the rocky path. There was something of despair floating in the wind, and of that sadness, the air was cold and crisp, wrought of hostility.   
  
"You are not wanted here. Return back, " spoke the wind  
"There are no trees waiting for you." hissed the clouds that passed fleetingly.  
"You are not wanted. Return." sang an eagle, circling again and again over our heads.  
  
Even rock seemed to speak as they clamored and chimed with our passing. Arod neighed often, jerking his way back to the paths we left, as if he could not stand staying for yet another slight moment. The sun was high, and its rising marked the seventh day of our journey. However, I felt as if only a mere hour has passed. In my heart, I know I will find peace only in wandering, riding forever for some unreachable land.  
  
"My lord?"   
  
Gwyn's gentle chirp seemed to jolt Frodo into a state of energy, and he looked up as well. The hobbit's face seemed to become quite strong, no longer pale as it once were, and his hands no longer shook with doubt. He led Ruphin with not a rein or saddle, but in the Elvish fashion, looking for all that is green, as if he was forever riding in such a way. He rode with the air of a hobbit learned in the ways of riding, with a dignity and a confidence to spoke of his inner maturity. Of course, the touch of Gwyn's hands upon his back and clasped around his waist must have served quite well as the purpose for such grandeur.   
  
"Yes, Gwyn?"  
""We ride to Rivendell, of which my mother speaks in the tones of brevity and respect. But the house of Elrond has passed. We ride now to a forgotten Home."  
  
" - To an exiled Home." piped up Frodo, his eyes never straying far from my own.  
  
"We have come this far. I promise, no harm shall fall upon you, for it is indeed a forgotten Home. No one dare pass through."  
  
Gwyn bowed her head, lifting her hand to her heart. She murmured an apology and let the hand fall in salute. How long will it take for her to understand I no longer an heir to the Woodland Realm? If I were to speak of my refusal to inherit the throne, her eyes raise in tears, and Frodo wears a look of utter pain each time this happened. So I let it passed, though it eats away at my mind, and my heart. The cover of royalty has been lifted from me but even now, far away from home, Gwyn utters not my name, but "my lord" as if that is all I shall ever be, and all I should ever hope for.  
  
"But, Legolas, what are you searching for?"  
  
I would answer Frodo but I had not the heart to say it. So I let it be, and rode on ahead. The gentle reprimands of Gwyn reached my ear as I continued riding, and to those, Frodo's quick arguments eased my mind. I could quickly get lost in their words, and forget the cloud of memory that has already begun to form in my mind and blur my heart.  
===  
  
We stopped to sleep on the left side of a great outcrop of rock, to warn off the east blowing wind and to save our fire from being blown dead. I have grown used to pipe smoke, in fact, I have smoke quite a bit with Gimli over the years, and did not even second glance when Frodo removed from his pack his old pipe.  
  
As I continued to prepare the pheasants we shot for dinner, I noticed that Gwyn stopped building the fire and walked to Frodo. I have forgotten that very few in our realm has seen a pipe, let alone the act of smoking one.  
  
"What's that, Frodo?"  
"It's a pipe. You never seen one?"  
  
The birds were so bony, not at all as plump or well fed as the ones in our land, and I considered going back and trying to hunt for better fare. But the darkness which surrounded us was thick, as heavy as fog. A great many shadows has been spotted, making their way through the darkness and I did not desire to leave such two merry folks by themselves. Not with such an angry wind blowing.  
  
"Why, even Legolas smokes!"  
"Do not speak lies of my lord, Frodo."  
  
"He lies not, Gwyn. I do, but I much rather breathe in the scent of fresh air, rather then smoke that clouds the lungs of hobbits and drawves alike."  
  
Frodo laughed and puffed into the air a smoke ring, that made Gwyn stare off into the distance in wonder. She is but a child in my eyes, born in the spring of the frozen rain six hundred years ago. Such naivete and such merriment often made me feel the weight of my years sharply, as if a great knife is being honed against my skin. I have no longer the sense of joy that Gwyn has, even in something as simple as a night out among the stars and watching rings of smoke fade away into the sky's abyss. I grieve that I have lost such a pure side of myself.   
  
"Do you want to try?"  
"Can I?"  
  
Gwyn's eyes flicked to me at first, in doubt and then she quickly took the pipe into her hands. Feeling its weight, she grasped the handle and placed it in her mouth. Frodo gestured to her how to take a breath of it, and she followed. How her eyes widen, and her cheeks flared! I could almost remember the first time I tasted smoke in my mouth, after Gimli's heavy laughter. There was no soothing property to it, no matter what they say. The pipe brings more ruin to my nerves then fifty goblets of wine.  
  
But Gwyn took to the pipe far worse than I. She removed the pipe from her mouth and sat there, coughing, as Frodo hurried to pat her back in worry. All I could was laugh. She is, after all, but a child in my eyes, yet her words and actions have given more joy to Frodo then any of us, any of his past Companions could have.   
  
It was a tender moment that I know I will look often to during times of pain and worry.  
===  
  
That night, I did not sleep, caring more to stay awake with my bow and quiver across my lap. How Gwyn sleeps, hugging herself into a ball to escape the cold. Frodo sleeps as well, though his eyes closed but only two hours ago. He has far greater a stout heart then before. I hear his speeches in sleep and in dreams, and they are enough to convince me of something I have already suspected.  
  
How gentle love is, when one loves the right one. I have never felt that kind of love before. My heart flows as freely as the rivers of my home. If I were only born of a heart that were of wood and leaf, I would stay forever content, and live my days to its utter vacancy in peace. But the woman I love is already taken. Her heart belongs to another.  
  
"We can not live like this, in hiding, Legolas."  
"We need not hide any more, my Lady. Say yes, and rid us of this pain."  
  
"I love another."  
"You love me, do you not?"  
  
Her fair skin against my own, the dark waves of her hair in my hands, the touch of her lips against my own - were I to live with those memories forever as a comfort to my grieving mind?   
  
The flames of the fire were dying slowly, and with it the stars above seemed to go farther into the dark sky. The light seemed to fade away, leaving behind nothing more but darkness. And in that darkness I saw a reflection of her gentle eyes staring back at me.  
  
===  
  
It was an afternoon in her home. I sat quietly in the shadows of her room, drawing in the sun and wind that blew from the open windows. The sound of her footsteps climbing the stone steps of the palace of Men sounded like the beating of my heart. Around the palace, the distant peaks of mountains, so unlike the ones near my realm, could be seen, filled not with snow, but veiled in smoke. The conversations of men and women drifted from below, from the streets. They spoke of candid matters, haggling for food and arguing about petty thrifts, and the stench of food cooking seem to evoke the smell of fire in the air. The palace was always warm, lit with many fires, to warn away the cold. How she must have suffered from the memory of her home - it too was built of stone, and smelled of fire. But here, she was so far away from her people.  
  
"Legolas."  
  
Her eyes were wide with pain, and she hurried to fasten the lock on her door. But before she could turn to me, I rose from the corner and wrapped my hands around her shoulders. She has kept the smell of the river, solid and flowing, and of the trees, rubbed close to her skin. Its scent was a part of her people, our people, forever. Not even if she were to live a whole eternity with the race of men, she will never rid herself of that fragrance - and to that, I kissed, slowly, softly, never letting her hand slip from my own.  
  
"You can not come here, like this alone. I have not the will to endure it."  
"You love me, do you not?"  
  
I have known her since the day I was born, our families of close kindred to one another. She would have been my wife, she would have been mine, if only she could have been mine - but since the day we met, her heart belonged to another. I have asked her the same question a thousand times, a millions times, as oft as new stars are born, but she never answered no. I think in her heart, she knows, if she were just to utter the word, shake her head, I would leave and never return. But she never answered.  
  
She slipped away from me then, and hurried to unlock the door. Her body clothed in the fabric of men, her eyes darkened by weary nights of endless worrying, and the creases of pain forming ever so slightly against the eyes that I have loved - all of them spoke to my heart and made me drunk with sadness.  
  
"Will you not run away? All you need to say is yes, and I'll do it. I swear."  
  
When she turned to look at me, her eyes were filled with tears, and slowly she reached out to stroke my face. The touch of her against my own was so bittersweet, and filled with parting. Something in her has begun to fade, I see her light slowing being consumed by the avalanche of sorrow and anger around her. I could not save her from her fate.  
  
"Leave, Legolas, and never return here."  
"You mean not what you say."  
  
"Leave."  
"You love me, do you not, Arwen?"  
===  
  
It was sunrise when Gwyn awoke, her temperance already forged by the strict, but loving hands of her mother. Before she even placed a hand to her hair, or a piece of food to her mouth, she hurried to pack the blankets, rebuild the fire and set out to making breakfast. But regardless of how early she risen, Frodo was already awake, and preparing the horses for the day's journey. The gentle looks that they exchanged and the lighthearted and happy talk and laughter become a blessing to my ears. All night, I have heard nothing but the silence of long past days, where hope once lingered. But like the clouds that passed overhead, there was no hope left - only a veil of once were.   
  
"My lord, what plagues your heart? Will you not let your servant hear of it?"  
"No, Gwyn, it is a sorrow fit for only one who knows not what love truly is to feel. We ride to Rivendell today."  
  
===  
Note - and so begins my version of the events after Lord of the Rings. I know that this twist, and the twists yet to come, will upset quite a few people, but please, no flames! Feedback eaten and turn into creative fluids. thank you! By the way, Gwyn is, regardless of frist impressions, not a Mary Sue. 


End file.
